


xiv. torture

by tempestaurora



Series: it's okay, we're okay [whumpvember 2018] [14]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pain, Torture, Whump, Whumptober, bad words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 18:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16624244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempestaurora/pseuds/tempestaurora
Summary: He choked up a sob as the men in masks jolted Tony awake. They’d stopped his heart by accident – at least, Peter thought it was accidental. The way one bitched to the other; slapping him around the head and swearing in a language Peter didn’t understand, made him think it wasn’t on purpose. No, see, they still wanted something and Tony knew how to get it.Peter didn’t know what it was though. He’d woken up to Tony’s screaming. He’d woken up long after Tony had bargained Peter down from the very same table Tony was being resuscitated on.“You’re lucky,” one of the men had told Peter in broken English. “He swore he’d never give us a damn thing if even one of your hairs was out of place.”





	xiv. torture

**Author's Note:**

> this series is getting harder to write if only because i don't care about all these prompts in the middle????? i like the ones at the beginning and end, but these ones are pretty boring so i'm just like,,, working my way through them v slowly

If Peter could’ve stopped it, he would’ve. Honest to fucking God, Mary, Jesus and the Holy Spirit – he _would’ve._

But Peter Parker had no control in this situation. He was chained with his arms above his head, vibranium cuffs around his wrists, and he was just… watching. An absent participant. Unwilling, sure, but there on the side lines; not taking part but not able to stop it.

He choked up a sob as the men in masks jolted Tony awake. They’d stopped his heart by accident – at least, Peter thought it was accidental. The way one bitched to the other; slapping him around the head and swearing in a language Peter didn’t understand, made him think it wasn’t on purpose. No, see, they still wanted something and Tony knew how to get it.

Peter didn’t know what it was though. He’d woken up to Tony’s screaming. He’d woken up long after Tony had bargained Peter down from the very same table Tony was being resuscitated on.

_“You’re lucky,”_ one of the men had told Peter in broken English. _“He swore he’d never give us a damn thing if even one of your hairs was out of place.”_

Peter wanted to vomit and he wanted to cry; he wanted to scream but that role was saved for Tony, who was using it liberally as his heart was jolted into working again. The men stepped back, letting him take a breath before they went looking for their next toy to play with.

They’d already had a lot of fun with waterboarding, and there were enough bloody crosshatches across Tony’s chest to tell Peter they’d played with knives. Tony was quivering like electricity was still coursing through him – that was the only one Peter had witnessed. The way his body had tensed, back arched in agony, a silent scream torn from his mouth.

When Tony flung his head to the side suddenly, eyes wide and searching for Peter, his body relaxed at the sight of him, unharmed by the wall. His mouth seemed to be forming words that Peter couldn’t make out and he whimpered, wanting to hear Tony’s voice, wanting to be able to reply, himself-

But Peter had no words left in him. He had nothing other than strangled screams and choked out sobs. Words escaped him when he couldn’t pull the handcuffs free; when he realised that he was going to be here for the long haul – until someone fucking found them.

Tony jerked suddenly when a drill started up across the room and Peter darted his eyes over, watching the men return to the table, their masks covering the gruesome smiles they must’ve been wearing.

“You’ve died and come back,” one of the men said. “Tell us who Spiderman is or we’ll make sure you never walk again.”

If Peter could cough up blood, he would’ve. He would’ve coughed up his insides that were crawling their way up his throat. He would’ve spat and choked and drowned on blood until his lungs were hanging from a cord from his mouth, his heart between his teeth. They were here for him.

Tony wheezed out a reply. “Fuck you.”

The drill started up in earnest, and Tony yelled when it made contact with the skin of his knee. Blood splattered and Peter slammed his eyes shut. Tony deserved for Peter to at least watch the pain he was enduring on his behalf, but Peter didn’t have it in him. He couldn’t do it. He’d live the rest of his life with the sounds; he didn’t need the visuals too.

Yet, against his will, his eyes opened; hands on his face, directing him to the gore spread out in front of him. Tony had become almost still, barely breathing as he worked through the pain; one gasping breath after another, punctuated by the roaring of the drill. As Peter watched, the blood froze in thin air, then rained upwards, flying straight to the ceiling and pooling there as if gravity had flipped.

The scene was still, the sound cut off suddenly. Peter, like the man holding his face, like the man with the drill and Tony on the table, was paralysed; unmoving, caught in a moment of pain and agony and desperation.

Peter gasped, suddenly, waking up.

The dingy room with his arms chained above his head vanished with the intake of breath, his bedroom coming into sudden focus; the bunk bed above his, the blue walls darkened by night, the faint light coming from the window. He was still, his muscles tense from the dream – the nightmare, the memory – and he had to let his heart slow down before he could pull himself up, sitting on the side of his bed.

The carpet floor was too cold, somehow, on his feet. Blood splattered behind his eyelids.

Peter took a long breath, hand pressed firmly against his chest, right above his heart that was no longer suffocating him by sitting in his mouth.

He felt the beating, the thumping, one after another and let himself calm down.

Outside his window, Queens plodded through the night. A car went past, a conversation happened across the road. Music faintly reached his ears from an all-night diner a few blocks away.

The world was still turning, even when everyone was frozen in the chamber; in the room with vibranium hand cuffs for him and Tony, with a work table of assorted weapons and the ugly, yellow lighting that made everything seem a little green.

It had been over a month since that day; since he was taken from the street as he and Tony walked back to the car after a lunch together. Since men who’d been sent by a crime boss Peter had kicked the ass of had needed Spiderman’s identity. Since War Machine had broken through the ceiling, guns blazing, turning the room into even more of a blood bath than it had initially been.

Peter took one shuddering breath after another before finally reaching out for his phone. He yanked it off the bedside table, letting the charging cord fall to the ground. After wincing at the light, he read the time: 4:14AM, and silently hoped that Tony was still awake.

He wasn’t, but he picked up anyway.

“Peter?” Tony asked, his voice muffled by a pillow. Peter felt bad for all of two seconds for waking him – Tony got little sleep as it was – but Tony had insisted that Peter call him whenever he needed him. And Peter needed him right then. “Are you out on patrol?”

“No,” Peter whispered. May’s resting heartbeat thumped gently through the connecting wall. “I just. I watched you die.”

Tony sounded like he was blowing out a breath. “I didn’t die, kid.”

“Your heart stopped.”

“And then it restarted. We’re not calling it death if it didn’t take.” There was a beat of silence where Peter felt how tightly his phone was pressed against his face, how hard his hand was against his chest, how desperately he needed to hear Tony breathing. “I’m okay, Peter.” It was the same way every other night when the nightmares visited him; thrusting him back into memories he’d rather bury. “We’re okay. We made it out, we’re doing fine.”

“You can’t walk.”

“Can too,” Tony shot back, equally quiet. “I just need a brace, is all. And maybe a few more surgeries – but _Peter._ I’m okay.”

Peter nodded, shifting and flopping back onto his pillow. He stared at the bed above. He couldn’t have Ned sleep over when he didn’t know if he was going to wake up screaming or paralysed or crying from a day his subconscious wouldn’t let him forget. “Can I come over tomorrow? Or, uh, today?”

Tony hummed positive. He knew that Peter needed to see him in person, walking around, to breathe properly again. “Sure thing. Pep’s planned a yoga thing for us in the morning – says it balances her core or something – so come round after lunch, okay?”

“Thanks, Tony.”

“It’s no problem, Pete. We’re gonna get through this, you know.”

“I know.”

“We’re gonna live to see a hundred tomorrows.”

“We are.”

“Tomorrow’s going to be better.”

“It will be.”

There was quiet, the two of them having said the same thing so many times before. Peter loosened the hold over his heart, closing his eyes. There was shuffling on the phone, the sound of a quiet hum, and then a whispered voice.

“Hey, sweetie,” Pepper said, her voice in Peter’s ear. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter replied after a beat. “I am now.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “That’s good. I think Tony’s already fallen asleep again.” Peter huffed out a laugh. “Try and get some sleep. We both love you a lot, okay? If you ever need us-”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks, Pepper.”

“Sweet dreams, Peter.”

When the call finally cut off, Peter slipped it back onto the bedside table and blew out a long breath. He then curled up on his side and, feeling better than he had when he woke up, fell into a dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! make sure to leave a comment down below to let me know what you think!


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